Cigarettes
by Whitsie
Summary: Harry smokes. Why? ONESHOT


'You shouldn't smoke, Harry"

Harry had been waiting for this. None of the purebloods, or the wizard-raised half bloods cared, but the muggle-raised, they had a serious problem with it.

"Shouldn't I? Why's that, Lavender?"

"It's bad for your health. It'll give you lung cancer or something. You grew up with muggles, you know this."

Harry snorted. "I make a habit of disregarding everything my muggle relatives ever told me." He took a drag of the cigarette in his mouth. "But yes, I do know smoking kills. No matter what people say, I'm really not an idiot."

Harry breathed out, relishing in the slight burn in his throat, repressing the urge to cough that never fully went away, no matter how long you had been smoking for.

"Smoking kind of proves other wise, Harry"

It was time's like these Harry really hated the Eighth Year common room. McGonnagall had put everyone in his year who was returning to study for their NEWT's in one tower, instead of letting them go back to their houses. She said it was good for inter-house bonding.

"Justin. I am best friends with Hermione Granger. You don't think she has sat me down at some point and expressly detailed every single thing wrong with smoking with colour coded notes and a chart on health risks?"

Harry watched Justin Finch-Fletchley flounder in his seat for a moment, before pulling himself together. "I'm sure she has, and that just makes you more of an idiot for not listening to her."

"Or I managed to some how convince her to leave me alone? That maybe, somehow, I managed to convince the girl determined to free the house elves despite their vehement protests against it, that I have a valid reason for smoking."

"There is never a good reason for smoking. Ever. I'll help you quit." Lavender never could keep quiet for long. "I have a cousin who gave up a few years ago. I'm sure she could give you some pointers."

"I'm not gonna quit. I am, quite frankly, hoping that cigarettes will kill me."

Harry looked around as the common room fell silent. He was sitting on a window ledge so the smoke would go outside, and had missed most of the Eighth Years coming in after dinner and settling in the common room to finish their homework or talk. The only people not staring at him now were Hermione and Ron, who gave both him a soft smile and walked over to stand on either side of him.

Harry stubbed his cigarette out, and vanished the end with a flick of his wand. "I started smoking when I was fourteen, after our fourth year. I stole my first pack from my cousin."He had so many stashed in his room he never noticed. He hid them because my aunt, his mother, didn't allow him to have them. She had told him that cigarettes were dangerous and would kill him and that he had to quit. "I was perfectly aware of the… dangers of smoking."

Harry still remembered the first time he had smoked a cigarette. He had walked up to the park on Magnolia Crescent, and sat on one of the swings. It was late afternoon, and there wasn't any one around, but Harry had figured it didn't matter either way, as everyone within a mile radius believed him to be a dangerous criminal. It's not like smoking was going to lower their opinion of him any more. The first drag of the cigarette had been horrible. Harry had nearly coughed up a lung. But he had kept going, determined to finish it, and when he had, Harry had immediately started another. He had arrived home after dark that night, long after Dudley. Vernon had been away for the weekend, on some work conference, and Petunia had always been slightly more lenient in her punishments. He had walked in on Petunia holding a garbage bag of Dudley's cigarettes, screaming at him. Harry had been privately amused that she was so angry about cigarettes, but had no issue driving Dudley to an early grave from a heart attack, or another obesity related illness. Petunia and Dudley had looked over at him when he walked in, and obviously smelled the smoke on his clothes and hair. Dudley had shouted back at Petunia about how unfair it was that the freak was able to smoke, and didn't she love him? Petunia had snapped back at him that of course she did, she was trying to protect him, and had then thrown the pillow case at Harry. 'There, boy. Don't smoke in the house.' That was it. Don't smoke in the house. Any residual affection Harry had held for any of the Dursley's, for taking him in, for keeping a roof over his head, had died that night. "

So, what? The issue is that you're addicted and can't quit? That's kinda pathetic for the boy who could throw off an Imperius at fourteen." Kevin Entwhistle sneered. Harry bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. "Oh no. I'm sure I could quit if I wanted to. As you say, I have no shortage of will power. I just don't want to. I already told you. I'm hoping cigarettes will kill me. I know that they'll most likely kill me by the time I'm fifty, maybe later if I'm lucky. But that's what I'm counting on.

"When I was fourteen Voldemort was still alive, and still trying to kill me. He'd had just regained a body, using my blood, and my chances of living to eighteen were non-existent. I swore to my self then that it would be cigarettes that would kill me, not that fucker."

Harry summoned his Cloak from the boys dorm room, and walked over to the portrait hole, waving of Hermione and Ron. They knew that he liked to walk around the castle at night. "So yeah, Lavender, I shouldn't smoke. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop."


End file.
